by Tillie Cole
He jerked up, annoyed. “Fucking hell, Tash, stop saying that! Half of those actresses are emaciated, eating-disorder thin. Most are like that through drugs or surgery or both. I’m a big guy, I can handle a bit of meat on the bones of a woman, in fact, I prefer it. Nothing wrong with curves. I’m an ass and boob man all the way. I like something to hold on to,” he said completely seriously.
I shrugged nonchalantly but was really kind of buzzing about it.
“Fair enough. I for one am glad you're a chubby-chaser. It’ll help me succeed with the wicked plans I have in mind for you!”
"Tash..." he growled, warning me to shut up, but I saw him smirk when he thought I wasn't looking. I pulled my lips tightly together and made an exaggerated zipping motion over my mouth. He seemed mollified.
He walked around the bed and reached for the glass of water off my cabinet. “Drink,” he ordered, tilting my head up. “I don’t want you to get dehydrated.” After a few sips, he placed the glass back down and adjusted the pillow, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“So, does it ever get any worse than this?”
I nodded. “Sometimes, but if I take my medication I’m okay. The fainting, that doesn’t always happen. I got too far to the brink and Tink wasn’t here to pull me back. That’s the only reason this all looks so bad. It’s not normally so dramatic of an occasion,” I assured.
Tudor rubbed his hands over his face and shaved head, and looked at me in deep regard. “I don’t like it, Sunshine.”
He crawled over me and laid down, staring straight up at the ceiling.
I shrugged. “It is what it is. As Ron Burgundy would say ‘It's part of my life!’"
He nodded, steadfastly solemn. Bloody hell, even Anchorman quotes were failing to raise a smile.
I shuffled closer, laying my head on his stomach. He tensed, arms levitating in the air, not sure where to put them or even if he should touch me. I didn’t care, he needed a bloody big hug. He wasn't dealing with this well, he was too intense, too fenced in.
He eventually held me in his arms. “As if I need one more reason to think about you. You're pretty much in every waking thought as it is. Now I can add worrying about this to the pile."
He sighed loudly. Bloody hell, the boy loved to brood, no wonder chicks went crazy for him! All sullen and dark – pass me a wet wipe!
“Hey, Tude?”
“Yeah?” he answered in a glum-sounding voice.
“…don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better,” I sang. “Nah na na nan a na naaa, Nah na na nan a na naaa, hey Tude!"
He giggled, actually girly-giggled. I loved the sound. I was bouncing lightly with the movement of his ridiculously ripped stomach.
“You’re such a dork!” He squeezed me tighter.
“Why thank you, Mr. Too-Cool-for-School.”
He was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke again. “It’s weird, you don’t know how true those lyrics are to me.”
I nodded my head in silence. I had nothing to say to that and he understood I would give no response. That kind of talk led us to bad places. We were strictly friends, as we had now agreed, who, granted, on occasion got a bit touchy-feely, a tad too flirty, a bit turbulent, but it was fine. We knew where we stood.
He tapped my arm. "Come on, let's call Tink before he flies back and castrates me. You need to sleep and get better. We’ll talk more when you’re stronger."
"Castrate you?" I mumbled, already dozing off, too comfortable on his lovely warm torso.
"Erm... yeah, he threatened me... again. I’ve never been challenged so much by such a small guy. He said if I didn't come here pronto he would cut my balls off, a threat he apparently learned from you?"
I nodded in confirmation. "Yup! You don't get brought up on a farm and not learn a thing or two about how to geld a stallion."
He shuddered. "Shit, remind me never to piss you off near a pair of shears!"
"Oh, I can do it with less than shears. A small pair of tweezers would do the trick. Now close that gaping mouth and grab my phone, and let’s call the big gay queen before he gets his too-tight G-string in a twist!"
CHAPTER 17
I just called, to say…
Over the next two days, Tudor turned into a beefed-up version of Florence Nightingale. He gave me my tablets and kept me fed and watered. He even changed my sheets after I managed to sweat out nearly a gallon of water during the spike of my fever.
When I was feeling slightly better and I could once again manoeuvre, albeit slowly, he even helped me take a bath. He was a true gentleman and never once took advantage, much to my disappointment. I maintained my modesty by being tightly wrapped in a towel when he dropped me in the tub and once again when he helped me back out.
Tink was on the phone constantly. After speaking to him in depth the first night, he called every two hours for updates. It took a lot of persuasion on my part to stop him from flying back and cutting his vacation short. He cried and blamed himself for not being there, but Tudor and I assured him that I was doing better every hour and that he should take advantage of Vancouver while he could.
In true Tink fashion, he had emailed a PDF instruction list of how to care for me during one of my ‘Shit! Wilbur’s Hormones Have Gone Nuts!’ episodes, as he had so aptly named them, and insisted that Tudor send my temperature and heart rate readings to him frequently using the spreadsheet he had devised for emergency occasions.
Tudor had been a sweetheart through it all and, as promised, treated me like a close friend. He slept next to me in bed, but assured me it was only so he could keep an eye on me at all times. He would, on occasion, sneak over to my side of the bed and spoon, but, to save us from any awkwardness, I played possum. After all, we had agreed to be just friends. Plus, I liked him being wrapped around me – I was like the meat in his fajita!
He cleaned the condo while I dozed, and when I was awake never once left me alone. Underneath that moody and hard exterior was a kind and gentle man. I tried not to get too used to this new and improved Tudor, especially the familiar warm feeling of having him with me constantly. It'd hurt too much when he left.
It was obvious that he had personal problems, or at least something was happening in his life to cause him worry, and he called his mother several times a day. He had finally told Pamela where he was and why, and even admitted that we had seen each other a few times through Tink and Tate’s courtship. It still frustrated me as to why he could never just say we were friends on our own accord. But I didn’t question him about it. I didn’t want to hear the answer.
After spending Thursday and Friday in living hell, I woke up early on Saturday morning with the bright winter sun peeking through my curtains. I stretched, and for the first time in many hours I felt good. I tested each muscle with tiny non-jerky movements, and there was no pain. I gently moved to sit up, waiting for the nausea to hit, and to my delight it never came. I rolled my shoulders and clapped my hands silently in glee. I was turning over to tell Tudor the good news when I heard soft rhythmic breathing coming from next to me. There he was, fast asleep, looking all tousled and sexy, still fully dressed, his arms tucked under the pillow, snoring lightly through slightly pouted lips – my hulking guardian angel. He had done so much for me in the last couple of days, and our turbulent relationship seemed to be improving with each passing hour, so I probably owed him a lie-in.
In celebration of my dormant hormones, I decided that I would treat myself to a shower. An entire tub of brown sugar body scrub later, I dressed and scurried into Tink’s room to style my hair and apply my much-missed shovel of make-up. I looked into the mirror and grinned; my locks were once again shiny and smooth, flowing down my back with a gentle curl at the ends, and my trusty Mac make-up collection had replenished my lackluster pallor. I had put on my red-tartan wool shorts with black tights and a black, fitted long-sleeved top that accentuated my figure, and I felt bloomin’ great.
I made my way to the kitchen and began to make a proper English fry-up in honour of feeling healthy and as a big food-based thank you to Mr. Hollywood – not ‘The Blade Reaper’ but ‘The Domesticator’! I opened the kitchen blinds, letting sunshine flood into the front room, flicked the stereo onto a country radio station and set to cooking bacon and eggs to the soothing tones of Miranda Lambert and Lady Antebellum.
As I was plating up the delicious morning feast, I heard a commotion coming from my bedroom. I turned my head to hear better, when Tudor came barrelling into the kitchen shouting my name and halting on the spot when he found me at the cooker, spatula in hand and dolled up in my novelty apron depicting Botticelli's, 'The Birth of Venus' in all her naked glory.
“Tash? What are you doing out of bed?” he yelled.
I smiled and shook my head. “Good morning to you, too! And for your information, Mr. North, I am feeling one hundred percent better,” I twirled around and gave an enthusiastic grapevine step, showcasing my resurrected kinetic abilities.
He began walking towards me, and with each step his lips lifted into a joyful smile, his t-shirt and jeans all rumpled from slumber, but still managing to look like a Calvin Klein model. When he reached the kitchen island, he glanced down and spotted the calorific feast. “What's all this?”
“This, my good friend, is a celebration of my cracking hormone stability and your stellar care-giving skills. I hope you’re not watching your figure, Hollywood, as this may seriously add a few pounds!”
He moved back from the island, a cheeky, shit-eating grin on his face and lifted his tight white tee to his chest, displaying his ripped abs and swirling black tattoo. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay just this once, what do you think?” he said with a cock of his head.
Holy fuck! What do I think? Sheesh! I want to scrap the fry-up and nibble down on every tasty morsel of that muscle-laden smorgasbord! That’s not a six pack, that’s a friggin’ brewery, and this girl’s game for a piss up!
I tried to focus and picked up the spatula that I had dropped at the impromptu brawn peep-show, and managed to mumble, “Erm…yeah I think you’ll be okay just this once.”
I was blushing furiously, my face – and other unmentionable places – on fire!
Tudor smirked and let his T-shirt drop, knowing full well what he had just done to me. I very nearly pole-vaulted the breakfast bar to stop the material from falling back into place, but I thought it might look a bit too eager, and I wasn’t confident that the wooden spoon in the pan of baked beans would give me enough spring action to clear the necessary height.
Tudor began chuckling at my loss of composure. I guessed I wasn’t the first victim of the ‘ab attack’.
I cleared my throat, removed my apron and instructed, “Right, take your plate and have a seat. The food is getting cold.”
“Yes, sir!” he mock-saluted.
I walked past and heard a quick, sharp inhale. I turned around to find Tudor staring at my arse.
“Hey! I’m up here, pervert!” I scolded.
His eyes shot up to mine, his expression guilty. “Sorry, Sunshine. I-I like the shorts. Really like the shorts,” he murmured under his breath.
“What?” I asked, not quite sure I had heard him correctly.
He smiled. “I said this looks nice.” He lifted the plate of food to his nose and sniffed. “Yum!”
We tucked into breakfast, both feeling much happier at the fact that I’d recovered. I sent a quick text to the Tinkster letting him know I was feeling better, poured out two cups of post-fry-up ristratto coffee and moved to the couch to chill, with Tudor in tow. We settled in and I switched the TV on, lowering the volume so we could chat.
I took a sip of my java. “So…”
He tipped his head to the side, and smirked. “So?”
“So, I was just thinking, now that I’m better, you’re free to go back home.”
His face fell, and he took a long sip from his cup. He placed his mug on the coffee table, and rubbed his hands together, “I suppose you’re right. I should get out of your hair, you’re probably sick of me.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “No I didn’t mean you have to go. I just thought that you would want to… I like you being here with me.”
He visibly relaxed and peeked up at me shyly. “I don’t mind hanging around, you know, just to make sure you’re alright today.”
I felt the butterflies in my stomach again. I think they had just taken acid.
I nodded and smiled. “I’d like that.”
He picked up his coffee and settled back onto the couch. We sat in comfortable silence, both catching glimpses of each other staring at the other, causing us to burst out laughing.
He patted the arm of the couch. “Okay, I’m going to get a shower. I won’t be long. We’ll have a movie duvet day after that if you want?”
I scrunched my face up.
“What?” he asked frowning.
“I’ve been cooped up in here for days. Do you fancy a walk somewhere instead?”
He rubbed his lips together. “Yeah okay. Give me ten minutes. I know just the place.”
Tudor made his way to the shower, and I tried very hard not to visualise him naked and wet in my bathroom, using my loofah in those hard-to-clean areas.
To distract my mucky mind, I picked up all the dirty cups and plates instead and began loading the dishwasher. I cleaned the countertops until they were sparkling, and by the time I was done, Tudor was walking out of my bedroom, stretching his arms over his head, looking like the living, breathing Canadian version of King Leonidas from 300 – completely unaware of me, frozen in place and drooling. This is Sparta!
I quickly shook my head clear of my wanton thoughts and began putting away the cleaning supplies. As Tudor walked by the TV area, my phone started ringing from its place on the coffee table.
“Tude, would you answer my phone please? It’s probably Tink calling for another update.”
“Sure, no problem,” he saluted, and answered the phone on the third ring.
I quickly washed my hands to remove the scent of antiseptic, and I heard Tudor’s voice turn ice cold, “Yes she’s here. I’ll just put her on.”
I turned towards him, his face was rigid in anger, jaw clenching, holding out my phone.
I swallowed apprehensively and held out my hand. “What?”
He thrust the phone towards me, exhaling harshly. “It’s Gage.”
I nervously stared him straight in his eyes. He had me trapped in his gaze.
“T-Thanks,” I whispered.
I brought the phone to my ear, Tudor never looked away. “Hello?” I answered weakly.
“Hey, Natasha, it’s Gage, from the show the other night. Arianna’s brother.”
“Oh, yeah. Hi, Gage.”
Tudor folded his arms over his chest, breathing loudly, failing to conceal his dislike of the whole situation. I couldn’t take my eyes away from his magnetic stare.
“Hey, is it a bad time?” Yes, it couldn’t be worse! “No, no, it’s fine. How are you?”
“I’m great, thanks. Even better now that I’m speaking to you.”
“Aww, thanks, that’s sweet of you to say.” Tudor made a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp at that.
"It's true. I’m calling to see if you still wanted to go for coffee? I was thinking tomorrow if you haven’t got any plans, say in the afternoon sometime? I have errands to run in the morning but could call you when I'm done?”
Tash, you need to go. Gage is nice, good dating material. Tudor is a friend, he has made that crystal clear. It’s only coffee, you need to do this to move on. Take a chance.
I nodded, causing Tudor to tilt his head in question. “That sounds great, tomorrow afternoon. Call me in the morning to confirm the place and time and I’ll meet you there.”
I could actually hear Gage smile through the line. “Awesome. It’s funny, when a guy answered your cell I was worried you had got yourself a boyfriend since Wed
nesday, that I was too late.”
I stiffened. “No... he’s not my boyfriend, he’s just... a friend. I’m completely single.”
Tudor stumbled back, lowered his arms and clenched his fists repeatedly at his sides. I wondered for a split second if he was going to punch a hole in the wall. It certainly looked that way.
“Phew, that’s a relief! I’ll call you tomorrow, for sure. I’m really looking forward to it, Natasha. Have a nice afternoon.”
I finally looked away from Tudor, who was as still as a photograph. “Me too. I’ll see you then, Gage. Have a nice day.”
I hung up and gripped the counter top. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife, so I waited about thirty seconds and turned around. Tudor was still standing in the same place, eyes focused on the floor.
I plastered on a fake smile. “So, I’m all cleaned up here. Shall we go for that walk?” I asked in an overly cheery voice.
He took a shuddering breath and darted his eyes anywhere but at me. “Erm, I-I just remembered that I have to go. I need to be somewhere else after all.”
Hell no, not again!
“Tude, you promised. You said no more awkwardness. Please don’t do this again.” I complained as I moved around the kitchen island towards him.
He squeezed his eyes shut once and then focused his gaze back on me. “You’re right, I did. But I-I can’t go with you today, Tash. I need to go. Please, I need time on my own. It’ll all be fine, don’t worry.” He sounded broken, his voice was just above a whisper and I swear his eyes were misting over.
“Tudor, you told me to go out with him only the other night, remember?” I pleaded, trying to make him understand. He told me to friggin do this!
He smiled, and nodded. “I did and you should.”
He straightened and composed himself, looking normal once again and not in any way affected. “Honestly, Sunshine, go, have a good time, you deserve it. I do need to go, but I’ll call you later, okay?”
He walked over and gave me a weak, one-armed hug. I knew he was lying; sure, he was an actor and his profession was to pretend, but I could read this man like a book!